Thinking is a good thing, at the start of something, when you’re really thinking through what you’re trying to achieve. It’s also good to review what you’re trying to do, part way through as well. But if all you do is stop to think about things, you’re probably not doing an awful lot. And if you’re not doing an awful lot, what’s the point in thinking about it, isn’t that just naval gazing? There comes a time in every project to stop thinking and start doing. If the UK Meet Spice Organisers had only thought about what the UK Meet needed to include, and hadn’t actually done any of the organising, the planning, the booking, the blogging, the tweeting, the panelling, we wouldn’t have had a UK Meet in Manchester at all. We’d have had a lot of thoughts, ideas, worries, things to consider, but no actual UK Meet. Thankfully we didn’t do that, we had a plan (the thinking right at the start) executed it, and dealt with everything else (still by thinking, don’t get me wrong), as it came along. It can be really easy to worry over the small details to such an extent you can’t just get on and get the job done. The background colour of a website, whether a character’s dialogue is a bit too...something, are those toasted almonds on the cake toasted just enough? These details are important to us, but sometimes you just have to put them aside, and get on with the main project. You have to put aside the pursuit of perfection for the pursuit of getting the job done. There’s not much in life which is forever, as in for eternity. There’s not much you can’t go back to afterwards and tinker with. But you can only tinker with something which you’ve done, you can’t tinker an idea. You can’t edit a blank page. If you spend too much time agonising over a perfect birthday present for someone, chances are you’ll miss their birthday, or it’ll have become such an insurmountable task, you won’t get them anything. Surely an ok present (or even just a card) is better than a perfect idea of a present? We spent five years thinking about how we wanted to landscape the back and front gardens. There was always another something to think about, to stop us actually doing it. Earlier in summer we just got on with it. We had a plan, and a builder and dealt with the little problems as they came up, with much help from Mum and the builders. And now, I’m sat in the new back garden, writing this. Without actually doing the landscaping, this would have been impossible, we’d have still been just thinking about it. A writer said to me about blog posts, the important thing is to do them, not to worry too much about them being absolutely perfect. It’s about the content, the ideas, the stream of new information, not about the fact that you’ve got a twirley background you spent months to perfect, not about having the perfect phrases to express exactly what you mean. People don’t come to websites for twirley backgrounds, they come for interesting content. They might stay on a website which has a twirley background they like and good content, but just the twirley background, not so much. Which reminds me, I need to think about updating my banner pictures...

Are you a perfectionist? Does it sometimes stop you getting things done? Or do you think there's still a place for perfectionism? I'd love to hear your thoughts. Until next time Liam xx

I normally read romance books, not only MM romance (and why that is, is another post) but happily ever after, love interests get what they want, romance books. I’ve also been known to read the odd trashy autobiography as a massive guilty pleasure. If anyone’s looking for something to read by a beach on holiday, the best autobiography, BAR NONE, is Danniella Westbrook’s The Other Side of Nowhere. You will not be able to put it down, trust me. Does she sell her vacuum cleaner for drugs? Does she turn up on set at EastEnders on no sleep, full of drugs from partying all night? Does her nose fall apart? The best bit is the way she’s so *hands up, fair cop gov* about the whole thing. What was I saying...oh yes, read things you don’t normally read. If all you ever read is the same genre, you’re missing out on gems in other genres. I’m not saying you have to abandon your favourite genre and start reading something completely different. I’m just talking about say, every third book, or something like that. And why is this so important? Well, I am testament to this being successful. I do like a good book which makes me cry – see books which have made me cry post. That is essentially still in my usual genre. The second book which made me cry, Gypsy Boy, by Mikey Walsh, is also in the same genre it’s an autobiography (not a celeb one, I’ll grant you, but still autobiographical.) I was hankering for something a bit different, so I grabbed Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones from my TBR pile. I’ve seen the film, so I knew what to expect. I couldn’t sleep one night last week and thought, I’ll just read a few pages to help me nod off. I finally turned the light off four chapters in. And I finished it after a week yesterday. Me finishing a book in a week, is pretty impressive. I don’t have much of a commute, and generally will prioritise writing over reading. But The Lovely Bones, just kept me gripped. The language used is beautiful. The concept, although it seems pretty gruesome, is handled positively. The book deals with Suzie Salmon as she watches from her heaven as her friends and family deal with her death. It could have been executed so badly, despite the idea being great, fortunately it’s not awkward, or clunky, you easily slip between her watching down from her heaven, and flashbacks while she was alive. The concept which I really found very moving, and interesting was about how a person’s death affects those left living. ‘As I watched my family sip champagne, I thought about how their lives trailed backward and forward from my death...’ This is where the book’s title comes from: ‘These were the lovely bones that had grown around my absence: the connections – sometimes tenuous, sometimes made at great cost, but often magnificent – that happened after I was gone...The events that my death wrought were merely the bones of a body that would become whole at some unpredictable time in the future.’ Anyone who’s ever lost a member of their family will understand this, and a book which explains that concept – even if it doesn’t have a happily ever after, or some celeb gossip, was definitely worth leaving my standard genres to experience. I will keep my eyes open for other Sebold books in the future. Have you ever gone off piste to a different genre and liked it? perhaps you went off piste and hated it. I’d love to hear from you. Until next time Liam xx

So, this isn’t a baking blog, but I do like baking, so I’m including my own recipe here which resulted in a surprisingly good apple tart. As you’ll know if you read my blog about a year ago, I tried to make a tarte tatin, and have failed at least twice. This is a sort of cheat’s tarte tatin. I used the leftover pastry from the Bakewell tart, and some apples our neighbours had given us, from their tree which overhangs our back garden and this is what I came up with. Ingredients 1 x 375g block of puff pastry – I sense some of you are rolling your eyes. It is cheat’s apple tart, and even John Whaite, winner of the Great British Bakeoff has been known to use bought puff pastry, I’m going to allow it here. I normally make pastry, but puff, I’m leaving it to the experts... 1 egg, beaten 600g of cooking apples, peeled, cored and cut into 1/3 cm thick wedges (as thin as you can cut them really) 225g soft muscavado sugar – basically any soft brown sugar will do. Make sure you sieve it into the recipe or you get big chunks 3 good pinches of ground cinnamon 75ml calvados (more if you want, you can go for it, but don’t go OTT) Method

Preheat the oven to 180C fan, 200C non fan, and put the baking tray which will fit the tart onto it, in the oven. It’s important the baking tray gets really hot, or you’ll have a soggy bottom on your tart, and no one wants that.

Roll out the puff pastry on a lightly floured surface. Place onto grease proof paper then cut it into a 35cm diameter circle. Push the edge over by 1cm, then crimp it, like the edging for a Cornish pasty. Brush the beaten egg over it. Place in the fridge for 15mins. Make yourself a nice cup of tea, you deserve it at this point. You can squash up the left over pastry and make another, smaller tart if you have any fruit still left. I thought it seemed a waste to throw it away.

Mix the apple slices in a bowl with the sieved sugar, cinnamon and calvados until it’s all well coated.

Remove the pastry from the fridge, and prick it all over with a fork. Lay the apple slices onto the pastry. Imagine you’re laying tiles on a roof, so each slice is partly over lapped with the previous one, like in my picture. You can arrange in rows, in a circular pattern, whatever takes your fancy. Just make sure they’re no more than one thick or the apples won’t cook in time.

Once they’re all laid onto the pastry, pour some of the left over sugary calvadosy, cinnamon juices over the apples. Use your judgement, don’t soak them, or you’ll end up with a soggy bottom, and the pastry won’t cook, but you want enough to ensure the apples are coated. This sauce caramelises in the oven and gives the apples a nice brown tinge.

Put the tart, still on the grease proof paper, onto the hot baking tray, and leave in the oven for 15-20 mins, or until the pastry is golden, and the apples are soft.

Leave to cool for 10 mins, dust with icing sugar (this is the cook’s friend, as it can, as Mum always says, ‘cover a multitude of sins’).

Serve with cream, ice cream, or on its own.

I’d love to hear if you try this recipe, not least because it’s the first one I’ve posted online and I really hope it goes well for you too. Until next time Liam xx

I'm on UK Gay Romance with this post. It's copied here on my blog, with different pictures so I hope you enjoy. On Saturday 3 August 2013 I went, with the Boyfriend, to Brighton Pride. I'm not proud to be gay, so why did I go? Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not ashamed of being gay, I just am gay. Like I have brown hair, brown eyes, or I’m right handed, I just am gay. Being gay isn't a skill, like learning to drive, baking a good cake, or writing a good book, which you can improve, and then be proud of. It’s just part of who I am.

Mind you, I have definitely grown into being gay over the years, and this has affected what I’ve done at the various Prides I’ve attended. I’ve been going to Brighton Pride since 1998. A quick scan through my 1998 diary reveals I went to three Prides that year: London Pride, Summer Rites and Brighton Pride.

My first Brighton Pride was with some friends I’d met at a gay youth group, all three of us single, care-free and looking for some action. We put a tank of petrol into my friend’s little brown Fiesta and we felt indestructible. We slept in the car because we couldn’t afford a hotel, and hadn’t thought to organise anything else. Some of us got quite a bit of the promised, action, others, not so much. At the end of the night, we were in no state to drive anywhere, having all drunk our body weight in alcohol. My diary entry for 8 August 1998 about my first Brighton Pride included, ‘Buy black + white combats and other camp old pish’ and ended with, ‘Had a really cool time.’

That year I put my photos from Brighton Pride into an album, every picture annotated with what they were of, and the dates: Dykes on Bikes, men in Speedos, my friends and I in our combat trousers. As well as my diary, I wrote a short account of the day on my little 386 laptop, with its huge 40mb of disc space. And there the account stayed, until years and many laptops later, I dusted it off and it helped me with the Brighton Pride scene in Best Friends Perfect.

My outfit for the day

Over the years, my Brighton Prides have varied from year to year, as I’ve changed what was important to me each year:

Camping in a village 15mins from Brighton, with an increasing number of friends each year, as word got out how great it was

Having to queue for hours in Brighton for a taxi back to the campsite, and then arguing with the taxi driver once aboard to convince him to actually leave the city limits to take us back to our canvas covered beds

Watching a gay hairdresser friend, walking from caravan to caravan on the Saturday morning of Pride, asking if he could plug his hair strengtheners in, before he knocked on the door of the land owner’s farm house, waving his straightens, only to be told the same from the very unimpressed farmer’s wife

Sharing a cricket field with thousands of tents, next to one where a straight man, sang all night about how he was going to ‘Brighton Gay Pride’ and he couldn’t wait to see ‘all the gays’

Liberace and Scott, behind the caldelabra on the sea front...

Watching a group of our friends arrive in the pub at the end of the pier, as Just Can’t Get Enough, by Depeche Mode started to play; and my friend, a Scottish woman in her forties, shouted that the pub was amazing - the best place she’d ever been in, as the whole of the pub turned to look at her. This was exactly the reaction I’d predicted she would have, when we’d arrived 10 mins earlier and I’d checked out its end-of-the-pier-seen-better-days, decor.

On the hottest day of the year, the free festival was swamped with straight people. Now, I don’t have any objection to straight people coming to Pride, if they’re friends of gay people, sympathetic, appropriate straight people. But these were just along for the ride of a free party, and they were, not only not sympathetic, they were actually homophobic. Many of them stood in groups, with their large dogs, throwing lager cans at other Pride revellers, shouting at men as they kissed nearby, or staring at women as they walked past holding hands. And not one gay person said anything to them, they just moved away, because who wants a fight on Pride? Anecdotally, I heard, that’s why Brighton Pride introduced paid for tickets for the festival, but I’ll never know. That experience really upset me, because in the whole year of straightness, a day of Pride, is when gay people can really let themselves hang out, in their swishy, muscley, whatever they want, glory, without having to apologise, or tone it down like so many of us do for the rest of the year. The behaviour of these homophobic people upset that for that special day.

Watching as another friend, erected a huge tent, but had forgotten the outside canvas layer, so it only had the internal layer, and poles. Fortunately it didn’t rain that weekend.

Watching the Boyfriend’s friend, mud-wresting another girl over a drunken disagreement about religion and ethics in the wettest Brighton Pride I’ve been to

Staring, mesmerised at a man’s chest in the dance tent, so intensely, while in the background the Boyfriend just stood laughing at my shamefacedness, which would have been completely out of character in normal situations

An exploding BBQ as someone put a lit disposable BBQ, on top of a gas BBQ, so once the gas canister reached temperature, it exploded, scattering metal across a 20 yard radius. That certainly killed the round the camp fire atmosphere that night

Having my photo taken with Maisie Trolette – a doyenne of the Brighton gay scene. She looked at my shirt and said, ‘You can always tell the lads who still live at home, their shirts are so nicely pressed.’ To which I replied that I’d ironed it all myself.

This year, the day started very early, earlier than we normally get up in the week. We left ours at 8.15 and arrived in Brighton, well Hove actually, although I believe the ‘actually’ is silent, at 10.00am. We arrived so early that the Boyfriend’s friend from work, was still in the shower when we called from just outside her house. The car safely parked, having overcome the various complex parking restrictions which Brighton & Hove City Council sees fit to include, we drank tea in her back garden as she finished getting ready.

She explained her other friends were arriving at hers at 11.30, the Boyfriend and I were keen to catch the start of the parade, which was 11.00 near the pier, so we bade farewell and agreed to keep in radio contact via mobiles. What on earth we did before mobiles, I do not know. Well, I do actually: we arranged where to meet, stuck with it, and if anyone left, we agreed where to meet again at a specific time, and stuck with that too.

We met two of my friends, by the sea front where we watched the parade pass in all its bright colour and fan fair. Watching this, it occurred to me there are so many different ways to be gay. There are so many ways to be GLBTQ, but I’ve focussed on the G, as I’m G. There are religious gays, Tory gays, police gays, trade union gays, NHS gays, gays living with HIV, gays living with mental health issues, outdoor gays, swishy gays, muscle gays, sporty gays, singing gays... Although Gay Pride doesn’t need to be such a political statement, as when it started in the 1970s, it’s a relatively recent change that gay police men and women are able to march in their uniforms. Before, this was deemed as a political statement, so they weren’t allowed to do so. This year, and every year I’ve seen Brighton Pride, there has been a section of out police men and women. And every time they pass, at every year’s Pride, Brighton, London, where ever, they receive a round of applause, in respect of this important and relatively recent change in their freedoms as members of the police force.

During the parade there were a number of floats of marching sections about countries where being gay is still illegal: Russia, and Uganda, among others. And that reminded me how important it is to come and support Pride celebrations because in the UK we are so lucky to be able to express ourselves with all the different ways of being gay. And that’s something we shouldn’t take for granted, not even for one moment.

Even since my first Prides in 1998, I’ve noticed attitudes to being gay change: when I started my first proper job, post university, on my first day, my manager asked me not to wear my ear rings for the first month. I have two small silver studs in my left ear (because everyone knows, right ear means right queer...) so they’re hardly like a costume from PQD. My manager said, ‘People judge you, Liam. And we don’t want them to judge you in that way, before they’ve got to know you.’ Obediently, without a single question, I went to the gents and removed my ear rings. I replaced them after my first pay day.

Do I think that would happen now? Yes, I’m sure in plenty of work places, it could happen. But I’ve not come across it since, and every single job interview I’ve gone to, I’ve kept my little silver stud earrings firmly in. Would I say something if asked to do that again at a new job? Yes, I would, without a question of a doubt. As well as the large public sector employers: fire, police, NHS, local government, there were some private sector employers there too, showing how they support their LGBT employees, including Tesco, a number of garages, a car hire company. The cynics could say that was just a way of these companies doing some advertising for more of our pink pounds, but I disagree. I think it was a show of how far many employers have come, supporting their staff to be themselves in the workplace.

My local gay venue, when I was growing up,and when I'm back at Mum's in the New Forest.

Once the parade passed the seafront, we said farewell to my friends, again, promising to keep in radio contact, and walked quickly up to Preston Circus, where the Boyfriend’s work colleague, was with her group of friends. The group included some straight couples, with whom we bonded over cats, sharing extensive cat stories, until those around us, who didn’t have cats became very bored. There was a two men who’d come with one of their sons, from when he was married to a woman. The son was there with his girlfriend, enjoying Brighton Pride for her first time.

This group left for the festival, and on the way back to the seafront, we bumped into an ex of mine, who we see quite regularly, as he lives in Brighton. We’d loosely arranged to meet during the day, the beauty of mobiles, but randomly bumping into each other, made that happen sooner than we’d expected. We caught up, work, homes, life, agreed to meet when he’s in London. He also told me he’d read the sample chapter of Best Friends Perfect, on my website, and said how much he’d liked it. Which, considering he’s a massive sci-fi fan, was a big surprise. This friend then asked if we wanted to join him and his group at the festival. After the great paid for festival debacle of 2011, this year we decided not to attend. In 2011, at the last minute we were persuaded to buy tickets and, joined this same ex, the Boyfriend and I quickly found ourselves in Preston Park, surrounded by sweaty crowds, queuing up for everything from toilets, drinks, dance tents, food and everything in between. After 30 minutes, I announced I’d had enough of the crowds (I’m not good in crowds) and we left. So this year, I told him we were having fish and chips on the beach instead. We were determined not to be swayed at the last minute, not even with the promise of Alison Moyet’s singing, or Paloma Faith’s DJing. Nope, we resisted and rejoined our parade watching friends, this time on the beach where we enjoyed fish and chips, and a lovely relaxing chat, pebbles in our feet with the crashing waves breaking 50 yards away. I must have a certain sort of face, because on three occasions, laying on the beach, we were approached by people offered to sell us all sorts of substances, and I’m not talking beer and lemonade. As day became evening, we said goodbye on the beach, the friends caught the train back to London, and we made our way to Churchill Square, the shopping centre in Brighton. I’m a big High Street fan, and wasn’t disappointed. In a washing line based error, earlier in the week, I lost one of my ear rings, so was keen to replace them. I should have probably looked in the Laines, and bought something terribly bijoux and individual. We did walk via the Laines, and actually passed Ole Ole, the tapas restaurant we went to at UK Meet 2012. I even went into a few of the jewellers in the Laines, but I’m sorry, I just couldn’t bear to part with the best part of £500 for some sparkly earrings. Even I’m not that precious! Churchill Square did me fine. We stopped at Montezuma’s, my favourite chocolate shop, stocking up on the usual range of sweet treats. I asked the cashier if he’d had a busy day. He replied it had been quiet, ‘People don’t come to Brighton Pride to shop, they come to Brighton Pride to drink. And other things too. And after they’ve been doing all that, they certainly don’t want any chocolate.’ He smiled, handing me the paper bag, full of chocolates. I replied that I was driving home that evening, so chocolate was a good way to end the day. See what I mean about how different my Brighton Prides have been over the years? We stopped for a hot chocolate and a quick social media catch up, having had no time during the day to fit it in. Shocked, I was! I was so busy, just having fun, being sociable, I’d had no time to tell everyone how much fun I was having, and be sociable on the internet. This rectified, we walked back to Hove, and a pleasant car journey, with a mixture of Radio 2 and some Annie Lennox (I love a bit of Annie, and every time I mention her, the Boyfriend’s mother mentions how they both went to Aberdeen School for Girls). Although this year there’s no photo album, no typed account which no one gets to see for 15 years and I’ve written a blog post and mobile phone posted pictures, on the internet – all impossible and unheard of concepts in 1998, it was still a day of celebration. It was still a day of pride in all the different ways of being gay, and how that’s changed for me too. I’d still end the day with the same reflection, ‘Had a really cool time.’ Only my definition of what cool was, didn’t include combat trousers, drinking alcohol all day, hanging out with my new group of gay friends, or getting some action, instead it was about different groups of friends, chocolate, relaxing on the beach, Radio 2 and Nashville on the sofa with the Boyfriend. So, however you are gay, be thankful that the UK not only allows, but also supports you to do that. And if that’s not a reason to go to Pride, I don’t know what is. Thanks for reading, Liam Livings xx

Would you go to a pride, although you're not proud to be gay? Or are you proud to be gay? Or are you someone (straight or gay) who thinks it's important to be proud that we have the choice to express LGBT issues in this way? I'd love to hear from you all.

Through the London chapter of the Romantic Novelists Association, I met an author, who lives very near me. She mentioned she was helping to set up a crit group and would I like to come? Based on my ‘always say yes to everything writing related’ approach, I took her details. Last night, I grabbed my note book and pen, loaded the first chapter of my second book onto my phone and braced myself for my first writers critique group. After getting lost and almost soaked in the familiar British August weather, I found a room of friendly women, some orange squash and a plate of home-made bread pudding. I soon felt very at home. The chair (she didn’t call herself that, it was very informal, but for wont of any other name, let’s call her that) started with an explanation of why the group had been set up: ‘Writers need other writers.’ I think this is one of the best ways someone has expressed what I felt when I first met a group of writers, at UK Meet 2012. We introduced ourselves, and it was quickly apparent our experience and aspirations were very varied. They ranged from someone who hadn’t written anything, but wanted to tell her life story in a novel; a woman who had been inspired by her father’s speech in rhyming couplets at her wedding to write her own poem as a birthday present to her father; a published author; another woman who’d given up her job to write a novel in six months, which had been accepted into the RNA’s new writers scheme for critique from a published author; a woman who has a book of inspirational quotes just published; one person had been to a series of writers crit groups. The theme for everyone was that the writing, whether it was ever published or not, no matter how they got the words on the page, was something just for them, alongside busy lives of children, grandchildren, jobs, husbands etc. The chair had asked us to read a short extract of something we’d written. It wasn’t compulsory, and we all agreed that as soon as things became compulsory, it wasn’t as much fun. The extracts were very different from each other, including some readings of historical stories set in the 1800s; a piece of poetry including some great imagery from childhood memories; the published author read a scene from a short story set in a hospital in the 1940s; I explained what GLBTQ meant when talking about the UK Meet; and we ended with some inspirational quotes. After reading my extract, during which there had been some laughter (which was good as it’s meant to be humorous) the chair said I had a very strong voice. I was the only person reading something in the first person singular; everything else had been in third person. I’m not sure what that’s about, but I just seem to naturally write in the first person. Maybe it’s because some of my favourite books are written that way, and I imagine the main character is telling me their story over a pint in the pub. For me that’s one of the favourite ways of storytelling. Do you have any experience of writers crit groups, I’d love to hear from you? Or do you prefer to use trusted beta readers? Until next time Liam x

I thought I was pretty good at grammar and punctuation. I am one of those people who judges others on their poor punctuation and grammar on social media. Sorry, but that’s just me. Hands up, my name is Liam Livings, and I’m judgemental about spelling and grammar. I love that picture which regularly does the rounds on social media explaining the difference between often confused words:

I know the difference between their, there, and they’re.

I know when it’s a grocer’s apostrophe (one grocer).

I know that it’s = it is, or it was, and that its denotes possession. (Get me with my ‘denotes’ today)

The thing about grammar is it’s the difference between knowing you’re sh*t and knowing your sh*t.

And I know that it’s ok to start a sentence with and.

I could go on, but I don’t want to come across as smug.

I also thought I had punctuation for direct speech pretty much sewn up too. However, evidently, not. I sent a short story to some very helpful beta readers last week, and as well as the ‘what does that mean?’ and ‘who’s talking here’ comments I received, I also learned there was a dark hole of ignorance in my punctuation knowledge which I had no idea was even there. You know what they say: you don’t know what you don’t know. Well, I didn’t even know this was a thing to get wrong, and it turns out I was getting it wrong, left, right AND centre. This is what one of my beta reader sent me: Commas and speech - only use when the speech is preceded/followed by a dialogue tag - an action doesn't count. Let’s just reflect on that a moment, because, trust me, I had to re-read it a few times, to work out what the thing was I was actually getting wrong. There’s a different rule for punctuation of dialogue tags (he said, he asked, he shouted etc) next to the dialogue itself, from the rule when it’s an action (she brushed her hair, she punched him in the face, she walked into the room) next to the dialogue. REALLY? Is that a thing?

It’s not only a thing, it’s a thing I’ve been getting wrong, all this time? I spoke to a friend who works in PR, and he said he always uses a colon before speech, in everything he writes. Like this - The head of commercial relations said: ‘We are proud of this new product, and welcome taking it forward into the next century.’ Now, as far as I know, that’s pretty wrong too. Or is it? Back to my beta readers.You use commas instead of full stops a lot in speech:He glared. "I don't like that" NOT He glared, "I don't like that." Alternatively you could use Glaring, he said, "I don't like that."It's the same following speech. "I don't like that." He glared at her. Not "I don't like that," he glared at her. Or you could use "I don't like that," he said, glaring. Also, I tend to join sentences together using commas, but no conjunction. I’m particularly guilty of this in my direct speech (because that’s how us Brits talk) but apparently in the USA it’s got to be broken into shorter sentences. This, I feel, is something for another post. Have you ever had any grammar/punctuation fails, which you didn’t even know could be a fail? I’d love to hear from you. ‘So long, and thanks for all the comments.’ Liam waved, then left the room. Liam xx

If you fancy a change from my talking about UK Meet 2013, head over to Jessewave, where my fellow Spice Organiser Jo Myles has pulled together the other Spice Organisers talking about why you should come to next year's Meet, and what you missed if you didn't attend in 2013.

Sunday morning I had two very useful author one to ones with Anne Brooke and Becky Black (they ganged up on me together) followed by RJ Scott. Thanks to you all for your time, I made loads of notes and loved it.

Novel endings saw an interesting debate about the difference between a happily ever after, and a happy for now. Answers on a postcard, or in the comments box. There was an interesting debate about whether writers have a responsibility to readers to give them a HEA for escapism. I suppose if you’re reading a genre romance you’re expecting a HEA, like when you watch a romcom you know how it’s going to end. I liked the comment that a HEA doesn’t mean all the problems have to be solved, or where’s the sequel, where’s the interest? I bet even Cinderella and her Prince had the odd ding dong, she’d spent too much on new glass slippers, he was out too late jousting, you know the sort of thing.

The wonderful Alice in Wonderland style of the Richmond Tea Room's interior. These were antlers, I believe.

Marie Sexton, in her fabulous dress and Wyoming Twang gave a brilliant talk about not having to apologise for your choices. She turned 40 (and I think has definitely had some of that elixir from Death Becomes Her, because she doesn’t look it), and realised she didn’t want to take anyone else’s crap any more. Everyone’s life experience is equally valid and so the choices you make are also equally valid. It’s easy to look at someone else’s life decision and say, ‘I just don’t understand why they did that’ but if you step in their shoes it helps you understand they made a valid choice for them. Marie’s list of things writers don’t have to defend was remarkably refreshing:

Traditional publishing, indie publishing, self publishing

First of third person narrative

Whether to respond to reviews or not

Whether they write every day or not

We don’t need to defend these choices any longer! Yay us and our different ways of doing things.

A question from the audience was ‘why do you write what you write?’ Marie said she’s tired of answering this, as it chooses us, and it’s about trying to capture universal experiences with a gay bent (sorry!) like falling in love, having a broken heart. However you see things it’s ok, as it’s valid. When I wrote my first book, Best Friends Perfect, I didn’t even think I’d actually written a MM novel (I didn’t know about MM actually, until Clare London invited me to the 2012 Meet). I’d just written a story about things I knew and had experienced, including characters with some resemblance to the people in my life every day: my friends, family etc. I suppose because I am a gay man, I will always see things with that sort of bent ;-) but I can’t see life any other way. I will always look at a man and think, ‘He could be gay’ or watch a film and think, ‘I wonder if that character’s gay?’ with some hope. So that’s it, the end of my UK Meet 2013 journey – well, not quite, we’re starting to plan the UK Meet 2014 and will do our best as the five planning group spices to make it even better than 2013. Liam xx